In a nutshell

It is often the case in biographies of people, the events of
whose lives are interesting, but for whom there are few contemporary or
personal records, that the author spends a good deal of time in speculation – ‘Cecily
must have thought this’, or ‘felt that’. Amy Licence very largely avoids this
tendency and has created a biography that is convincing, but not over-coloured
by modern perceptions.

In the introduction, Ms Licence is very clear that there is
a paucity of actual records relating to Cecily Neville, Duchess of York, so she
uses the sources to create a rich and informative context to the Duchess’ life
that allows the reader to understand the milieu in which she lived, the
experiences that her friends and contemporaries would have had and the
philosophical framework which shaped the mediaeval perception of life. From
this, we can build our own picture without ever being subjected to the author’s
personal views.

The book contains a huge wealth of meticulously researched
material about the day-to-day life of the Duke and Duchess of York: their
servants’ names and wages, their peregrinations around the vast York estates,
their life as Governors of Normandy in a time of war.

It is hard to view any of the protagonists of the Wars of
the Roses without the benefit of one’s own predilection for Lancaster or York,
but Licence details the increasing alienation from the centre of power that the
Duke of York felt in a matter-of-fact, rather than partisan tone. Whether he
was entitled to feel it, or whether he was making assumptions about the role he
ought to have that the King was free to accept or reject, depends upon one’s
own viewpoint.

One of Ms Licence’s great areas of study, explored in many
of her other works, is the experience of mediaeval and early-modern women in
childbirth and the rearing of their families. She uses this knowledge to great
effect to sketch in the relationships that occurred behind the scenes – such as
that between Cecily Neville and her husband’s arch-enemy, Queen Marguerite of
Anjou. Divided as they were by the ambition of Cecily’s husband and the chronic
ineffectualness and mental instability of Marguerite’s spouse, Henry VI, yet
they still shared many of their life experiences – the length of time it took
either of them to produce a first child being one.

There are two areas of controversy in Cecily’s life – the
first is the idea that her eldest son, Edward IV, was illegitimate. Ms Licence
begins by demonstrating clearly that the oft-cited statement that the Duke of
York was at a place some 50 miles away from Cecily at the time of the
conception cannot be used to prove illegitimacy.

She refutes the notion on two
counts – first, that gestation periods differ from some 37 to 42 weeks in
normal, healthy women, and given that window the couple could easily have met.
It is apparent from the evidence that the Duke and Duchess were happily
married, and that she frequently made efforts to join him as he went about
official business. Second, the inferences that can be drawn from the evidence
about Cecily’s own character. From the evidence, the Duchess was a woman who
gloried in her high status, and was also deeply religious and conventional in
her outlook. Is it likely that such a woman would have slept with an archer? In
fact, it is hard to believe that Cecily Neville would ever have even spoken to
someone so far beneath her rank.

Later, however, Ms Licence seems to draw back from this
position and suggest that Cecily herself allowed people to think there was truth in the rumour.

The second area of controversy is, of course, the fate of
Cecily’s grandsons, the ‘Princes in the Tower’. Ms Licence is careful not to
opine on their actual fate. She does, however, discuss what Cecily’s attitude
might have been to the usurpation of her grandson’s crown by her son.

Whilst the essence of Cecily cannot be recreated five
hundred years after her death, Ms Licence enables us to catch a glimpse of an
embroidered train, or a veiled hennin whisking away down a stone corridor ahead
of us – a tantalising figure, whom we can almost, but not quite, grasp.